


a collaborative condition

by girlmarauders, RsCreighton, tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Crew as Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Podfic, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, captaincy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-19 09:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15507042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic
Summary: The captain, the ship, the crew, the officers - day by day.





	a collaborative condition

**Author's Note:**

> girlmarauders: thank you so much to my podficcers tinypinkmouse & RSCreighton!

  
[Mobile Streaming Click Here](http://rscreighton.parakaproductions.com/Podfic/201809/%5bStar%20Trek%5d%20A%20Collarborative%20Condition.mp3)

Jim was losing, but Spock was not sure he was aware. He lifted a piece from the second level of the chess board and held it suspended in the air while he tried to select a move. He always did this, and Spock was trying not to show how much it bothered him. Why decide which piece to move but not where to move it to? It made no sense. He withheld a sigh. If Jim saw that he was annoyed, he would only do it more.

“You know, I think Hernandez is going to put in for a transfer,” he said, slowly, still considering the board.

“Ensign Hernandez in Engineering?” Spock asked. He was not sure of the direction of Jim's reasoning, which could equally have a deep relevance to the game or have been plucked entirely from the nether regions of Jim's chaotic mind.

“Yeah, short, black hair, pretty cute?” Jim said, finally setting the piece down. Spock exhaled, a little exasperated.

“Is there any sentient species you would not describe as “pretty cute"?” he asked. Jim grinned.

“It's your move,” he said, instead of answering, and reclined in his chair, his hands behind his head. Spock cast his eye over the board, but he was already fairly certain of his move. Knowing Jim, and the current shape of the board, he had at least 6 possible paths to victory, each of them less than 12 moves.

“Do you mention Ensign Hernandez for any reason?” he asked. Jim shrugged.

“She's seeing one of the science officers on the _Bell-Burnell_ , I think they're pretty serious.” he said. He had an almost encyclopedic memory for the romantic entanglements of the ship. It was both admirable and completely incomprehensible. Spock moved his knight up a layer of the board. Jim moved one of his pawns without looking. The maximum number of moves Spock needed for victory immediately shrunk to 8.

“Lieutenant Scott speaks highly of Ensign Hernandez,” Spock said, watching Jim. “It would be a shame to lose her skills to the _Bell-Burnell_.”

“That's what I said!” Jim said happily, leaning forward in his chair, his shoulders shifting as he clasped his hands. Both of them moved pieces in silence for a few moments. Spock now knew he was going to win.

“There is a vacancy for a science officer in Lieutenant Virtanen’s research team. Perhaps Ensign Hernandez’...” Spock paused and looked for the correct word. “..romantic partner could apply for the vacancy.”

“Hmm,” Jim said, moving one of his pieces to a particularly illogical place. “Good idea Spock. Virtanen knows Hernandez pretty well, I think they play handball together.”

“I am sure Lieutenant Virtanen would never let her personal relationship influence her hiring decisions,” Spock said, mentally shuddering at the idea. Jim smiled knowingly, like he knew what Spock was thinking, which was impossible, and Spock dismissed the thought.

“I don't doubt it,” Jim said, in easy agreement, as if he was getting his way. Spock moved his queen.

“Checkmate.” he said. Jim did a double take at the board.

“Is it? Damn, you got me again.”

Jim moved to knock his king over, when the room suddenly shuddered, and the ship lighting went to yellow alert.

“Attention, bridge officers to stations, captain and first officer to the bridge.” That was Sulu’s voice on the intercom, and both of them were already on their feet and heading to the nearest turbo-lift.

“Well, no rest for the wicked, eh Spock?” Jim said, still grinning, as they boarded the turbolift. Spock clasped his hands behind his back.

“I do not know if I would characterise us as ‘wicked’,” he said, and paused. “I will speak to Lieutenant Virtanen about circulating our vacancy notice to the _Bell-Burnell_.”

Jim smiled again.

“Very good Mr. Spock.”

&&&

“Oh for God's sake, man," Bones said, but he didn't sound angry, just disappointed. It was almost frustrating, that he couldn't even muster the requisite volume to sound angry.

Jim shrugged, trying to look cute and helpless, and only looking fairly swollen and delirious. He was half-hanging off Spock, who was holding him up and looked entirely unaffected, the insufferable bastard.

“Hey Bones,” Jim said, listing dangerous to the side. “I found a really interesting flower planet-side.”

“We believe the captain interacted with a poisonous substance while on the landing party.” Spock said calmly, helping Jim onto one of the medical beds. Bones rolled his eyes.

“You believe?” he said incredulously. “Oh, all that Vulcan logic really helping you out there? Making an effective deduction? He looks like he just did a line of Risian cocaine.”

Nurse Chapel, who was a saint and more than Bones had ever deserved, already had a hypospray ready.

“20 ccs of epinephrine?” she asked, loading it up. Bones put out a hand.

“Let me have a look at him first. Jim, any trouble breathing?”

Bones steadied him with one hand on his shoulder and shone a light in his eyes, watching his pupils dilate sluggishly. Jim blinked slowly, his pupils wide and dark.

“No,” he said slowly, “Bones, I feel good.”

Bones shone his light into Jim’s mouth. No swollen glands or tongue, but his face was puffy, and he was flushed. Some kind of fast-acting steroid maybe? This xeno-medicine was a crapshoot. He should have stayed in Georgia and burped babies for the rest of his life.

“Christine, could I have 15 ccs of antiprogestin?” he said, and she was already moving. “That should reduce the swelling. Spock, did you bring a sample of this ‘interesting flower’?”

Spock got that constipated look that usually meant he was offended, although Bones would freely admit he was not a great scholar of his moods.

“Ow!” Jim said, flinching away from Chapel, but she’d already got him good with the hypospray. Spock handed the sample to one of the security officers, Klein? Kuhlmann? Bones couldn’t keep them all straight.

“Ensign Kuhlmann,” Spock said and huh, that was her name, Bones was half-listening as he flipped open his medical tricorder. “Could you take this sample to the biochemistry laboratory?”

The tricorder made a little beep and Bones nearly rolled his eyes. Trust Jim.

“Jim,” Bones said, waving a hand in front of Jim’s face until his eyes focussed up. “Is everything the normal colour? Not seeing any pink elephants?”

“Well,” Jim slurred, “I did think Spock’s hair looked better now.”

Bones did roll his eyes then, and held in a laugh as Spock’s expression got weirder. He put his fingers on Jim’s wrist and put on pressure, watching the clock on his tricorder.

“What colour would you say Spock’s hair is?” he asked, mostly to keep Jim entertained while he took his pulse. Jim sighed like a schoolgirl, and wasn’t that some great fuel to make fun of him later.

“It’s very pink,” he said breathily, staring at Spock with his big blown-out eyes. His pulse was rapid and light, but nothing Bones was worried about. Jim probably got worse thinking about Spock’s pointy ears or something.

“Right I'm making you take an antihistamine and keeping you here for observation, anything you wanna tell your first officer before I make him get the hell out of my sickbay?” he said.

“Can I have pink hair too?” Jim said, sounding kind of floaty, and reaching out, Spock leaning away looking very alarmed.

“Are you sure the Captain will make a full recovery?” he asked. Bones supposed that was as close as the green-blooded wierdo was gonna get to expressing concern without anyone tying him down or putting Jim in mortal danger.

Bones took a cup of water and an antihistamine from Nurse Chapel, and held them up for Jim to take, only half paying attention to Spock.

“Until you have results for me on that plant, he'll be like this, but if all he's doing is mentally giving you a new hairdo I'm not overly concerned,”” he said, keeping an eye out so Jim didn't choke on the water. “Now get the hell out of my sick bay, we've both got stuff to do, and now I have to babysit this moron.”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back.

“Thank you Doctor, I have utmost faith in you.” he said, before turning sharply and finally leaving Bones alone. That would have been almost touching, if Bones was an emotional man. Instead, he turned around and muttered about weird aliens while he wrestled Jim to lie down.

&&&

“Uh, Captain, we don't have a full grasp of their language yet, I'm not sure I can translate accurately,” Uhura said under her breath, keeping her shoulder between her and the Dokeen’s king. Maybe they could read lips, she didn't know. Kirk gestured absently.

“You're a smart woman Uhura,” he said, stepping around her and smiling at the assembled group of Dokeen. “I'm sure you've got it under control.”

Damnit. From any other man, that would have been a dismissal, but from Kirk it just was a complete endorsement of her skills and a vow of absolute trust that she wouldn't let anything bad happen.

The Dokeen were bipedal mammals, and the field notes from the civilian research mission she had on file said they had a similar vocal range to humans, but the researchers had mostly been botanists and had written only cursory notes about the Dokeen’s language. The botanists had probably been killed in one of the Dokeen’s many internecine wars. Serves them right, she thought uncharitably, for not learning the language.

“Hello!” Kirk shouted affably, his mouth wide open in a smile. He waved across the rocky flat between them and the people Kirk was incompetently attempting to make first contact with. They reacted approximately how someone would react if a strange alien showed up on your planet and then shouted swear words.

She took a second to roll her eyes, privately to herself, and then pulled herself to her full height and, not very gently, elbowed Kirk out of the way.

First Contact went a lot more smoothly when she was doing it, and ignoring Kirk nodding and trying to look friendly next to her. She fumbled through a traditional greeting, complete with submissive trill to indicate she was not a warrior, and the Dokeen were a lot more affable after that. Only one of them poked Kirk with a spear, and she thinks it was because he asked for a demonstration.

When they're boarding the shuttlecraft late in the day, Kirk claps her on the back.

“See Lieutenant?” he said. “I said you had it all under control.”

He sat in the pilot's chair and began the start-up sequence. She returned her notes to the storage compartment, and sat next to him. She was chewing on a thought, and let it turn over while Kirk piloted them out of the atmosphere.

“Captain, what if I hadn't managed to make first contact? What if I'd gotten something wrong? You were directly in the firing line?”

She was half or more expecting a flippant answer, maybe that he wasn't afraid of primitives, or that he could surely take them. Instead he hummed thoughtfully.

“Well Lieutenant,” he said, steering the shuttle to come up alongside the Enterprise. “I don't think I'd get very far if I didn't trust my crew.”

&&&

Spock and Uhura’s bridge rotations had synchronous recreation time, and they had gone to the galley for lunch, and a game of 1-level chess. They had agreed to strengthen their relationship through mutual learning. Uhura was teaching him Swahili, which he found an imminently enjoyable language, and he was teaching her chess. They would proceed to 3D chess once she had mastered the more basic forms.

“What are you playing? Oh, 1D chess!”

Kirk plopped down in the third chair at Spock and Uhura’s table without waiting for an invitation.

“Jim, referring to this game as 1D chess is illogical. Chess played in a single dimension would not be on the visible spectrum for most species.”

Jim made a “pssh” noise and waved his hand.

“Who’s winning?” he asked. Spock inclined his head.

“The lieutenant is currently demonstrating the Rudenko initiative. It gives early-game dominance, so I would calculate the current standings in her favour.” he said, which made Uhura smile. It was one of her thin, private smiles, which always gave him an illogical, psychosomatic warmth.

“Spock is teaching me,” she said, looking at Jim. He made a thoughtful face.

“Huh, maybe you and I should have a game sometime. Spock always wipes the floor with me.” he said affably. Jim was competitive, but usually only when provoked, which Spock had always found confusing and strange. If you wanted to be the best, why not want it all the time? Instead, Jim was happy to be outmatched in chess, engineering knowledge, even strength of arms, as long as no one was goading him.

“Look there's Bones, he must have got off early.” Jim said and then waved his arm. “Bones! Get me a drink! Oh wait, do either of you want anything?”

He looked between Spock and Uhura quickly, his arm still in the air. Uhura’s lips quirked slightly in amusement.

“I'll have a raktajino,” she said, and Spock merely shook his head when Jim looked at him.

“Bones!” Jim shouted again. “Get me a drink and Uhura wants a raktajino!”

Spock clearly saw Dr. McCoy roll his eyes, but still go to the replicator with a tray. Uhura and he exchanged a few moves while Jim temporised about the new security recruits. After a few minutes of that, Dr. McCoy sat in the only free chair at the table, across from Jim, and handed out drinks, a black coffee for himself, a raktajino in front of Uhura, and some kind of green, steaming drink in a tall glass for Jim. In front of Spock, Dr. McCoy placed a bowl of Vulcan sec’tar candies. Spock looked up at him in surprise.

“You need to keep your zinc levels up,” he said gruffly. “You won't be getting enough from the regular crew diet.”

“I thank you for the concern Dr. McCoy,” he said, picking up one of the dried pieces and popping it into his mouth. It was true he had been experiencing the very early light fatigue symptoms that indicated a lack of Vulcan cuisine, but he had not yet thought to correct for it.

“I'm the ship's chief medical officer,” the doctor said, in a tone that suggested Spock had paid him a grave insult. “It's my job to make sure everyone's medical needs are being met. Saves me time later on.”

Spock decided that discretion was the better of valour and elected to push no further. The chess game was partially forgotten for now, although Uhura was rolling her rook between her fingertips. She was bickering with Jim about research priorities on the next away mission, although Spock had figured out a few months ago that bickering for them replaced what other humans usually spent in conversation. He and Uhura rarely argued, so he supposed it was useful for her to expend that energy at Jim instead

“I don't understand why no one on this ship will play a decent game of checkers,” Bones groused. Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

“I would be happy to teach you the rules of chess, if you are not familiar,” he said, and Bones growled and stuck his hand out to Uhura.

“Right, lieutenant, give me those pieces, I'm teaching this pointy-eared dweeb a lesson,” he said, and Uhura handed him the rook, and let him turn and reset the board. Spock assembled his pieces on the board, settling in for a challenging and illogical game, half listening to Uhura and Jim's disagreement. It was going to be a very enjoyable recreation period.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (title is from a poem about love)
> 
> Comes in from a downpour  
> Shaking water in every direction—  
> A collaborative condition:  
> Gathered, shed, spread, then  
> Forgotten, reabsorbed. Like love  
> From a lifetime ago, and mud  
> A dog has tracked across the floor.
> 
> Tracy K. Smith (2018)


End file.
